beginnings and ends

life is collection of beginnings and ends

connected by plot twists, slight curves and bends,

no signposts foretell the events life includes

no titles or foreshadowing to provide us with clues

like the first time you spot a soon-to-be lover

or the last time you see him: in the embrace of another

or the last time you salute a close childhood friend

without fully knowing you won’t see them again

or the first time you see your brand-new home

not realising the kids will sell it when they’re grown

just like the flowers that blossom and fade

cycles perpetuate, sure as night and day, 

they march in coordination to the rhythm of time

giving beauty to the illusion that free will pantomimes

life after hell

these years i’ve spent

walking through hell

through the screams and sounds of suffering

that echo down empty corridors

sallowed by glare of fluorescent lights

–

too many times have i paused outside an inmate’s cell

wondering how i could offer relief

relief — there is no relief i could provide

i am only mortal

my hands are burdened by the constraints of this world

and the rules that govern this plane

lie outside my control

(that’s why i turn a blind eye)

–

life. death.

are we born only to die?

to suffer at the hands of a force unseen

until mercy grants us breath no more?

at nights i drown out the screams of the dying

do not follow me into my dreams, i beg

but they persist

clawing at the seams of my sanity

like the delicate strings holding it together

is their last tie to this world

–

how can i move on

when all i’ve seen — lived — breathed is this hell?

what is a mother?

is she the calm sea beneath which worlds swim unseen?

is she the first sign of spring, an unfurled leaf of green?

is she the eye of the storm, which winds swirl around,

or is she the anchor that keeps you tethered to the ground?

is she the dew-soaked good morning on a hot summer’s day?

is she the port waiting ready while your ship sails into bay?

is she is a roaring hearth flaming on a cold winter’s night,

or is she a lighthouse on the shore, signalling with its light?

could she be the answer to every riddle ever written?

is she the final clue just as the plot thickens?

is she the shelter beneath which you cower from a storm,

or is she that place in your heart that’s forever safe and warm?

behind every woman

behind every successful woman

stands an even greater legend

called her mother

–

fruits don’t fall far from their

trees, and a woman of character

is created from material

equally as strong

–

look —

can’t you see?

–

the one who props her up

when trouble comes knocking

—

the one who stands in her corner

when mobs come to burn it down

–

the one who keeps her candle lit

when strong winds come to blow it out

–

that is her anchor

that is her mother

flawed leader

loyalty is not earned through slick lies

and digested half-truths, watered down

to make them more palatable.

–

nor is it a prize, to be won through bribery

and threats. only a coward leads through violence,

forcing a blind, militaristic obedience

that has no place among the ill and dying.

–

such men are not leaders,

and only a spineless fool could think

order born of fear is a feat to be celebrated.

great leaders are not appointed. their status is earned.

–

simply subduing the masses beneath the weight

of your iron thumb and anvil of propaganda

does not make you worthy of praise

or respect.

–

and just because thousands risk their lives

for what they feel is right does not mean

they did it because of you.

–

make no mistake:

they did it in spite of you.

a lie’s seduction

hush, my child,

and have faith.

–

rest those weary thoughts running through your mind —

you can place your trust in us

–

don’t you find you’re growing tired?

all those thoughts you were taught to cultivate

the warning signs

why do you fight the inevitable?

your fears are misplaced. we do not aim to harm you

but to help you

–

we thank you for your sacrifice

safe in our ivory towers, monuments

built to protect their precious cargo

please, admire the view from outside

after all, we do have your best interests at heart

–

don’t doubt us. it won’t do any good

to question the status quo

let yourself be guided by us,

men with more letters after their names than in them

papers and degrees that bought us the right to bargain

with lives

–

don’t worry about the rights and wrongs, darling.

such thoughts are not worth the strain

to little minds, and besides, talk of rights is fatiguing.

we relinquished yours weeks ago.

the expendables

(excuse me)

i was just wondering

what gives you the right to decide

who lives

and who dies

–

absence of evidence

does not equate with

the evidence of absence you love to misquote

you would watch them die

while calculating your statistics

while cherry-picking studies to support your claims

–

do you know — ?

turning your back

does not erase the blood on your hands

–

and aversion of crisis DESPITE your best efforts

does not mean you were right all along

they say

red highlights clumps of names

packaged together into risk categories

–

there’s a consult in room 13, they say

low-risk patient. you don’t need a mask.

–

but i want one. low risk isn’t no risk.

(room 13 is in the middle of a clump of red)

–

but there’s no masks to be found. they’re all locked up.

we don’t have enough, they say.

–

you’ll have to do without.

–

–

—

i examine a patient with infectious diarrhoea.

highly contagious. smelly.

–

we have no gloves for you, they say.

wash your hands. it won’t kill you, anyway.

—

but it is contagious? it can kill the frail, the old

and who wants diarrhoea, anyway?

–

we don’t have enough gloves, they say

you have our permission to do without

–

(not as though you have a choice)

–

–

–

there is a girl walking on the street

she’s wearing a mask. pink. looks homemade.

–

looks comfortable. practical.

when i go home, i make my own mask, too.

–

take it off, they say, when i turn up to work,

you will cause a panic.

–

i want to stay safe, but they say this isn’t about safety

it’s the public image, they say. and you are just one person.

–

don’t make them worry about how bad it is

ghost town

this is life now

–

empty buses meander down empty streets

as i scurry across a deserted road to

this, our skeleton hub

the hospital halls are bare, an echo

of the bustling city-within-a-city that both

somehow disappeared overnight

palpable uncertainty lingers, like a quivering heartbeat,

an unseen enemy lurks in the air

yet its presence is felt

beneath every mask

behind every cough

before every foray into a patient-care area

–

look outside

passersby trade suspicion,  huddling closer into

surgical masks and scarves wrapped around their faces

shelves are barren, picked dry by panicking crowds

fake news and false conspiracies fill facebook feeds

twitter hashtags change by the hour

the air inside is stifling beneath my mask

but the air outside is rank with fear

–

i sing to myself as i walk home

there is no one around to hear

C-19

frenzied calculations fly

number by number, post by post

three weeks? three months?

three years?

who knows where we’re heading

we, the country

we, the youth

we are the front line, the barricade, they say

quarantine, they say,

shut everything down

but we cannot shut down

they shut down our lives, our schools, our rhythms

they point forward, and say — work

save lives

but how can we save lives

no medicines, no treatments, no equipment or rooms or beds

armed with only the knives at our backs

held by an ever-ticking clock

and our frenzied calculations

how much longer will this last?